Star-Crossed

by Markland, Anna

  Robert held on to the parchment. “You are the abbesse?”

  The woman stared at him.

  Robert hesitated, feeling ridiculously like a naughty boy. This was no blushing matron. Should he hand over the letter, or explain first? If he gave it to her and she retreated into the enclosure, he would have no way of knowing what might happen next. Maybe nothing. “The letter concerns Dorianne de Giroux.”

  The woman’s eyes darted from him to Hugh and back again. She withdrew her hand. Something in her manner told him to give her the parchment. She unfurled it and read its contents then shook her head. “You cannot enter the enclosure. It’s forbidden.”

  Robert shifted his weight. “I understand, and we have no wish to trespass. Perhaps Dorianne could come out to see us?”

  The woman hesitated. “What’s your interest in my novice?”

  Robert decided honesty was the best policy. He was after all speaking to a nun. “She’s to be my wife.”

  The abbesse shook her head. “Non, my son, her family has given her to God.”

  Robert braced his legs. “Ma mère, they had no right. Dorianne is pledged to me. It was her brother brought her here, was it not? My claim on her outweighs his. I am Robert de Montbryce, son of Rambaud, Comte de Montbryce, Earl of Ellesmere, hero of the Battle of Hastings.”

  Did any of these things matter to this woman who had the power to deny him his happiness?

  The nun straightened her back. “You are fortunate, young Montbryce, that my novice is not in the enclosure, otherwise I would have to forbid contact with her.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Robert saw the basket of slate stop abruptly in mid air. Was it about to fall?

  “Not in the enclosure?” he parroted, half his attention on the basket.

  “She’s in the infirmary.”

  His head swiveled back to the nun and he took a step towards her. “She’s ill?”

  Hugh put his hand on Robert’s arm. “Steady,” he whispered.

  “She’s recovering. I’ll obey the comte and allow you to see her—on the morrow. It’s late and she’s asleep. Return to the Prior. He will provide you with a cell for the night.”

  Robert chafed, but had no choice.

  The woman shoved the door closed and they went off to seek their night’s lodging.

  Robert tossed and turned in the damp cell, his heart in turmoil knowing Dorianne was so close, yet so far away. Why had she fallen ill? Would she recover as the abbesse had promised? Would the nun change her mind and not allow him to see her? Surely there was some way he could use the basket?

  They were summoned early the next morning. The abbesse awaited them on the stone path, her expression stern. She led them to a different entrance.

  They entered a small, dimly lit infirmary. Two of the five pallets were empty. Slumbering forms filled the others, but only one was small enough to be a young woman. Robert resisted the urge to run to her. “What has caused this sickness?” he asked.

  The nun did not look at him and cleared her throat before answering. “It was a fever.”

  A suspicion grew in Robert’s mind. “What would cause such a fever, ma mère?”

  The woman poked a finger into the coif digging into her neck. “She’d been…she had…lacerations. They festered.”

  Robert remembered the maidservant’s claim Pierre had whipped Dorianne and he swore to avenge this travesty.

  Dorianne lay on her side. She stirred and opened her eyes slowly when the abbesse touched her shoulder.

  Robert inhaled sharply when he saw her pallor. Her cropped hair was matted to her head. It was the first time he had seen her hair completely uncovered and he wept inwardly that such beautiful tresses had been so brutally shorn.

  When he gasped, she slowly turned her head to look at him. She blinked rapidly and her breathing became labored. “Robert?” she murmured.

  He wanted to strike out at something, anything. He took her hand, ignoring the indignation of the abbesse, prevented from taking action by Hugh’s sizable frame planted between her and the pallet. “I’m here, Dorianne, my love.”

  She became agitated and squeezed his hand. Her eyes filled with tears. “Robert? Is it you?”

  He brushed his lips against hers and whispered, “It’s me. I’ve come to take you home.”

  “Milord!” the abbesse protested, trying to reach the pallet without having to push Hugh out of the way. “I cannot allow—”

  “Cease!”

  All eyes went to the doorway where Pierre de Giroux stood, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Robert and Hugh unsheathed their weapons.

  The abbesse moved towards Pierre, waving her arms, her voice strident. “Non, there will be no bloodshed. This is a house of God.”

  Pierre held up both hands, palms outward, in a gesture of reconciliation. “I haven’t come to fight. I came to atone and to free my sister. I didn’t expect to find you here, milord Montbryce.” He bowed slightly.

  Dorianne reached for Robert’s hand. “Pierre is here?” she rasped, her voice full of fear.

  Robert kissed her knuckles. “Oui, but he will not hurt you. I guarantee it.”

  Pierre took a step towards his sister, but stopped when Robert menaced him with his sword. He looked to the abbesse. “Ma mère, I came because I am filled with remorse over what happened with my sister. My rage overcame me. All in Normandie are living in uncertain times. I am as much the victim of my father’s hatreds as she is. I’ve prayed, and continue to pray for God’s forgiveness. I hope Dorianne can forgive me. It’s time to put this bitter feud behind us.”

  Robert did not believe a word of it. Judging by the grim expression on Hugh’s face, neither did he.

  However, the abbesse seemed to soften. “God forgives us if we are truly sorry, my son.”

  Pierre knelt before the nun. “I am truly sorry,” he insisted.

  She patted his bowed head.

  Robert and Hugh sheathed their swords, but still shielded Dorianne.

  Pierre got to his feet and turned to face Robert, holding out his hand. “I beg your forgiveness, Robert.”

  Rage surged. How dare this madman who had brought Dorianne to death’s door address him by his given name? “Listen well, Pierre de Giroux, I intend to take Dorianne from this place and make her my wife. If I have my way she will never have to set eyes on you again.”

  The abbesse gasped.

  “If he’s truly sorry,” Dorianne whispered, “I can forgive him. He’s my brother.”

  Robert wanted to shake her. His head suddenly ached and his belly churned. She was too trusting, too naive. Weaned on hatred, she personified love. She was still very ill and he did not want to upset her. He bent to whisper in her ear. “We can discuss it later.”

  She nodded, but replied, “I would accept his kiss of contrition now.”

  Robert shook from head to foot with anger, but had no choice but to watch the emboldened Pierre draw close to his sister and kiss her forehead. “Forgive me, ma soeur. I should have been the one to protect you. I am sorry I hurt you. I free you from this novitiate.”

  Dorianne’s eyes filled with tears. “I forgive you, Pierre. I thank God you have come back to me.”

  Pierre stepped back, sniffling and brushing away a tear. “I trust she can remain here until she has recovered, ma mère?”

  The nun nodded. “It will be a few more days yet before she can travel.”

  Robert itched to seize Pierre, bundle him into the masons’ basket, hoist it up to the roof and cut it loose. Instead, he leaned close to his future brother-by-marriage. When he saw no contrition in his eyes, he growled, “If you ever hurt her again, I will kill you.”

  Pierre looked away. “I must return home, Dorianne. I’ll inform father of what has transpired and of your upcoming nuptials.”

  She smiled weakly and Robert sensed she was nearing the end of her endurance.

  She closed her eyes and drifted off with a sigh.

  Hugh spoke for
the first time as they watched Pierre stroll out of the infirmary. “I wouldn’t trust the whelp as far as I could throw him.”

  “My feelings exactly.” Robert exhaled loudly and patted his uncle on the back. “Seems we’re here for a bit longer. Thank you for supporting me in this.”

  Hugh took his elbow. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I rescued Devona?”

  Robert laughed. “Many times, Oncle Hugh, many times.”

  No Head For Heights

  They spent two days planning their next course of action while waiting for Dorianne’s health to improve. One afternoon, they rode back to the mainland to confer with Melton and Mathieu. It was imperative Robert and Dorianne get to England. Robert felt honor-bound to explain personally to his parents his intention to marry a Giroux, and he wanted them to meet Dorianne when he did.

  Hugh summed up their discussions. “The best plan is to subject Dorianne to as little time as possible on horseback. I propose we ride to Cherbourg—a day’s ride. We can take ship for Portsmouth, which is usually an easier crossing. From there, we’ll make our way to Melton Manor where Dorianne can recuperate for a few days before you complete the journey to Ellesmere. Melton, Mathieu and I can return after we’ve made sure all is running smoothly with some of our other manors in Sussex, and you can carry on with the men-at-arms.”

  Mathieu had another suggestion. “These sheep must belong to someone hereabouts. I’ll seek out the farmer and procure a cart for Dorianne.”

  Melton looked out across the bay. “You’d better go back. The mist is rolling in. You don’t want to be crossing those sands in fog. You could find yourself riding out to sea.”

  The going was indeed treacherous as Hugh and Robert slowly made their way back to the abbey, relying on the faint traces of hoof prints as white fog blanketed the black sands.

  * * *

  Robert spent long hours watching Dorianne sleep, willing her to recover. He studied her face in repose, trying to ascertain what it was that had enthralled him. He could not explain it. She was beautiful, of that there was no doubt. He had known many beautiful women, yet none had appealed to him.

  Was it her innocence? The urge to be the first to possess her was powerful, but he sensed this innocent had a passionate side to her that would bring him more than physical release.

  There was an elusive something about Dorianne de Giroux that had enslaved him the moment he set eyes on her. Had she bewitched him?

  She could be stubborn. He had tried repeatedly to shake her belief in Pierre’s repentance, but she was steadfast. Too trusting, too naive. But it was what he loved about her. He would protect her from her naiveté.

  He put his hand on her shoulder.

  She stirred and looked up at him.

  He was relieved her health seemed improved, but the journey would still be harrowing.

  “The tide is well out, and Melton and Mathieu have brought a cart for you, but perhaps we should wait one more day,” he suggested.

  Dorianne shook her head. “Non, I want to be gone from this place. The abbesse brought my clothes back yestereve. I’ll dress and meet you on the path.”

  He kissed her forehead and left to join the other men. The cart was crude and dirty, but it had four good wheels, and would be more comfortable than a horse. Apparently overwhelmed by Mathieu’s generous offer, the grinning farmer had thrown in his own services and a weary-looking carthorse.

  “I could probably have obtained it for less,” Mathieu lamented. “I think I offered him more coin than he’s ever had in his lifetime. I’ll wager the sheep won’t see their master for a while. He may not return once he’s taken us to Cherbourg.”

  Robert hurried to Dorianne’s side when she appeared at the doorway, scooping her up to carry her to the cart. Traveling this way would slow them down, but it could not be helped. He introduced Dorianne to his relatives. A bolt of jealousy surged through him when both his cousins kissed her hand and showed their unbridled appreciation for her beauty.

  “I’m afraid it’s not comfortable, Dorianne,” Mathieu apologized.

  She smiled at him, sending another spark of indignation through Robert. He would have to keep an eye on his cousins.

  “I’m grateful for it, Mathieu,” she replied.

  As they rode away from the abbey, Dorianne looked up at the workmen and their basket of slate. He caught her eye and she smiled. “I pondered if there was a way to use it to escape,” she confessed.

  Robert returned the smile with a chuckle. “And I was scheming how to use it to rescue you. Thank goodness it didn’t come to that. I’ve no head for heights.”

  * * *

  By the time they arrived in Cherbourg a day and a half later, Dorianne was bruised and stiff. Lying on her side in the cart had saved her derrière from further aggravation, but the journey had been bone-jarring. However, it had provided many hours in which to contemplate her situation.

  Everything had happened quickly. A short time ago she did not know Robert de Montbryce, now here she was en route to meet his parents in England. But he was the son of an earl, a future comte. The disastrous history between their families did not bode well. At least Pierre had come to his senses and admitted continuing the feud was pointless. It was a miracle. She had begun to despair of her brother’s sanity and hoped he had gone to confess his sin against her and been shriven of it.

  And what of her own parents? Would her father too come to see that marriage to Robert de Montbryce was not only her heart’s desire, but also good for their family? She fervently hoped so and resolved to pray diligently on the matter.

  She felt safe surrounded by the Montbryce clan. What impressive men they were—tall, well-muscled, and good natured. And Robert was the handsomest. She swore a silent oath that she would be a good wife to him.

  * * *

  Dorianne’s exhilaration that they were crossing the Narrow Sea during daylight was written all over her fair face. She had never been in a boat. The wind brought color back into her cheeks. It lifted Robert’s heart. He wanted her to look her best when he presented her to his parents. Fortunately, her wimple would hide the damage done to her hair until it grew back. He knew it distressed her.

  He had been a good sailor when he was a boy, but now the waves and the tossing often got the better of him. He tried his best not to retch in front of Dorianne, but it was a lost cause, and she did her best to soothe him.

  “I’m sorry. Your great hero is nothing but a man who can’t control his need to retch his guts into the sea. I am my father’s son.”

  “Robert,” she soothed. “I’ve heard tell many people are unable to avoid retching when at sea. I’m happy to comfort you my love, as you’ve ministered to me this last while.”

  Hugh chuckled as his son and nephews fell victim to mal de mer. “As usual, it’s proven I’m the only true descendant of our Norse forebears.”

  As they neared the mouth of the Portus, Robert found his sea legs and was able to help with the landing. They dragged the longboat up on the shore where Mathieu announced his intention to ride to one of his father’s manors in Sussex, since it was nearby. “I’ll join you if I find all is well at East Preston,” he added.

  They arrived at Melton Manor a few hours later and Melton’s chest swelled as they entered the manor after which he had been named. It was a holding that had been in his mother’s Saxon family for generations. Devona’s ancestors had built the imposing house atop its craggy cliff overlooking the sea.

  All Montbryces were well versed in the oft-told tale of the secret passageway from the house to the beach below.

  Dorianne was intrigued when Robert told her the story. “Can we explore it?” she asked.

  Hugh laughed. “You wouldn’t want to, Dorianne. It may sound interesting, but it was dark and smelly and dangerous when I was in it more than twenty years ago.”

  Melton had overheard and offered to show Dorianne how the secret doorway opened, but would not take her into the passageway.

 
Again, Robert chided himself for the jealous feelings this offer aroused. The sooner he married this woman, the better.

  Two days later, they were underway, bound for Ellesmere. It was a route Robert had travelled many times, but they made slow progress in consideration of Dorianne’s condition. She could not sit for long atop a horse.

  “How will your parents receive me?” she asked.

  He shifted in the saddle and thought on his answer for a while. She fidgeted with the reins. After several minutes he replied. “They’ll be shocked, I can’t deny it, Dorianne. But my parents are…unusual.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Unusual?”

  Robert smiled. “Oui. They believe in the power of love.”

  Dorianne was silent for a while and then ventured, “I have no experience to which I can attach your statement. I’ve heard my father say some churchmen preach that noblemen who profess love for their wives are committing adultery. I don’t understand. They love each other?”

  “Oui! Sûrement. Definitely, and they love me and my brother, Baudoin, my sister, Rhoni and my half brother, Caedmon. Don’t worry. It’s a lot to digest. You’ll see when you meet them.”

  Dorianne’s eyes widened. “Can there exist a family where love rules instead of hate? Will they love me as they love you?”

  Robert laughed, leaned over and pecked a kiss on her forehead, his heart touched by her yearning to be loved. “They’ll adore you, as I do.”

  Her eyes betrayed her fatigue.

  He decided to send messengers ahead to warn of his arrival and to let the castle at Ellesmere know he was traveling with a Norman noblewoman who should be treated as an honored guest, but who might need care.

  Meeting Robert's Parents

  Darkness had fallen when Robert and an exhausted Dorianne arrived days later with their escort. As he expected, his parents came to greet them in the bailey as soon as word was brought, but Dorianne had fallen asleep in his lap.